I remember a few months after my rape, talking to someone who was supposed to be my godmother. At first, it felt like relief—I thought I might finally have someone to confide in. But as we talked, I realized she was just itching to hear me admit I had sex. That’s it. Not concern, not compassion—just that assumption.

She even went to my mom and said something was “off with me.” Never once did she ask if I had been violated. Never once did anyone ask how I was doing mentally. Instead, the narrative was already written for me: I was assumed to be sexually active and “crazy.”

This is the reality for Black girls. Our trauma gets dismissed. Our pain is overlooked. Instead, we are expected to fit into the stereotype: reckless, wild, and sexually precocious. Even when we’re suffering, the first question isn’t, “Are you okay?” It’s, “Are you doing what we expect?”

Being a Black girl in this world often means living under a microscope of judgment while the people meant to protect us look the other way—or worse, assume the worst. And after trauma, those assumptions can cut deeper than the original wound.

We deserve more. We deserve to be seen, heard, and believed. And most importantly, our pain should never be turned into a story about our “recklessness” or our supposed “craziness.”